


Rendezvous with Bears

by Lucy OGara (judo_lin)



Category: The Adventures of Sinbad (Canada TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23676787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judo_lin/pseuds/Lucy%20OGara
Summary: OLD story from the 1990s. Just your average Maeve-frees-Dermott-and-reunites-with-Sinbad-plus-secret-baby fic. I was a teenager!
Relationships: Maeve/Sinbad (Adventures of Sinbad)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Rendezvous with Bears

**Author's Note:**

> Since a big chunk of the world is stuck social distancing and I can't edit fast enough to post every day (I'm still working), I'm going to post a couple of VERY old stories. Most of the AoS fics I wrote in the 1990s were lost in a hard drive crash and even with the Wayback Machine I haven't been able to locate any online copies. I have three that I believe were written between 1998 and 2000, when I was in high school. I've edited them very lightly for typos and grammar but they are otherwise untouched from back then.

Please read the author's note this time, even if you don't usually.

Sinbad sat on the deck of the Nomad, one leg bent and an elbow resting on his knee. He stretched the other leg out in front of him, resting for a moment. He ran a hand over his scratchy chin—he'd gone longer than usual without shaving and the three-day growth of stubble was threatening to grow into a real beard. He tried to dredge up enough distaste to actually shave it off but he couldn't find the need to care. His hair was nearly dripping with grease, too, but he perversely enjoyed the unwashed feeling. It fit his mood. He didn't feel clean at all—neither inside nor out. There was something within him, something black and dirty, that he couldn't shake. He'd tried…sort of. Right after Ma—she left. Sinbad couldn't quite bring himself to say her name, even in his mind. It still hurt.

 _How long has it been?_ he asked himself silently. His face showed no hint of the turmoil within. The long months without her had taught him to mask his feelings. Doubar and the others could tell by his angry silence when it was not safe to approach their captain—Bryn had learned slowly, but it seemed that the tiny woman finally understood that Sinbad wished to be left alone more than not.

 _She_ had been quicker, Sinbad thought. _She_ had known when he was hurting, and though she never left him alone as he wished, she could always tell. And the few times he'd lost his temper with her she'd never cowered down, never backed away in fear the way Bryn did. She'd held her ground, weathered his storms, and then they'd faced their problems—together. That was the key. She had always been with him, whether they were fighting or getting along, waging battle against foes or simply spending a quiet day aboard the Nomad. He had always, ever since she first set foot on his ship, been aware of her bright red presence.

But now she was not here. And Sinbad didn't know if he could ever forgive the man who had raised him for taking her away. It didn't matter that it was for her own good. It didn't matter that she had to continue her training, that her path obviously lay on a different course than Sinbad's.

Unbidden, a sudden memory of her dark eyes rose to the front of Sinbad's mind, her bright hair muted somewhat by the shadows in his cabin. It was early morning, the sun shone brightly through the single porthole in Sinbad's cabin, and she lay tangled in his sheets, her chin resting on his bare chest, her face alight as she laughed down at him, urging him to get up. Even now, so many months later, he could almost feel the heat of her skin on his, hear the whisper of material as she shifted in his sheets, see the warm sunlight throwing the curve of her shoulder and the hollow of her collarbone into stark relief.

Three-quarters of a year, it had been. Three-quarters of a year almost to the day since he'd last heard her voice. She had called him for help once—just once. He'd watched her pitch overboard, seen her fall, and that had been all. Though the shade of Dim-Dim promised she was safe, Sinbad could never be sure. His master, though he never lied, had a sorcerer's tongue and could twist the truth around easily without actually lying. All Sinbad could do was half-trust that Dim-Dim would not let her be harmed.

And run slowly mad missing her.

He knew Doubar watched him. He knew his brother wasn't fooled by Sinbad's carefully controlled expressions or his silence. Rongar wasn't either. But there was nothing they could do. There was nothing anyone could do. Sinbad knew that every time he snapped at his crewmembers or drew his sword in anger he broke another piece of his brother's heart. But he couldn't stop it. His own heart was gone—away across the ocean somewhere…somewhere. It wasn't broken. It had been given to someone else, and then that person had been stolen away.

Sinbad stared listlessly across the water. Barely two weeks had he and Ma—she come to some agreement about their relationship. Barely two weeks had they carried on a not-so-secret romance they nonetheless tried to hide from their friends. For those two fleeting weeks he had known what it was to be truly happy, to not want a thing more than he had.

Then it had been taken from him.

Sinbad didn't know how much longer he could take it. He knew something had to happen, something had to give, and he wondered if she would ever return…if she would return before he lost his soul completely to this black aura that surrounded him with despair and every day gnawed at him, willing him to give it. Had he given up? Not completely. But he couldn't keep it up much longer. What was the point, with her gone?

* * *

Deep inside the dark recesses of a very ancient forest a pale redhead scrabbled with her hands at the roots of a plant growing in the shadow of a tree so tall she could not see its top. She eased a small plant carefully out of the dark soil, roots and all, taking care not to break off the tiny white flowers or tight green buds that had not yet bloomed.

"Here, precious," she muttered, tucking it carefully into a bag at her waist. "I've been searching for you forever, it seems." She brushed the back of her filthy hand across her forehead, leaving a streak of soil on her pale skin. Her dark eyes were very tired, and she used the rough trunk of the giant tree to help lever herself to her feet. She stretched, pressing her hands into the small of her back, and winced, letting out a massive breath of air. "Never again. Never," she muttered as if to herself, for nothing in the forest stirred save several small birds. The sound of thrushes high up in the forest canopy twinkled down to her and the hoarse voices of crows cawed from the forest floor.

The redhead leaned against a tree and dug her bare feet into the cool green moss, closing her eyes for a long moment. One grubby hand, shapely under the dirt, lifted up to caress the huge balloon of her swollen stomach. "Not yet," she whispered. "Not just yet—but soon."

The forest suddenly went silent, the birds stopping their song. The redhead's eyes snapped open in time to see five crows take swiftly to wing, heading east. She turned her head to the west for a long moment, then followed the birds eastward on silent feet. She was lost to view within moments.

* * *

"Land, Captain! Land!"

Sinbad looked up, feigning interest at the brown coastline just barely visible from the lower deck. He glanced up at the excited sailor in the crow's nest. "We'll make port by nightfall," he said, expertly judging the distance to shore. Sighting land no longer interested him; he'd given up the hope that she would somehow be waiting for them at the next port, ready to skewer him for leaving her behind.

Trying to look like he cared, Sinbad lent a hand as they brought the ship about, Rongar at the tiller, turning her to aim for the shore. Their calculations had been nearly perfect and they were making good time. This would be a profitable run—something the Nomad sorely needed. That was one reason Sinbad had agreed to take on this voyage in the first place. It was farther north than he liked to travel—they'd sailed through Gibraltar and out to what Firouz called ocean, an expanse of water nobody had ever successfully navigated east-to-west or north-to-south. Plenty of merchant vessels sailed up and down the coastline, but none that Sinbad knew actually tried to find the western edge of this…ocean.

"There isn't one," Firouz said matter-of-factly when Sinbad asked. "Just the edge of the world, they say."

"Well, what do you say?" Sinbad had asked.

Firouz had shrugged. "The way I figure it, there has to be an end of the water somewhere. Whether it's more land or the edge of the world I couldn't tell you."

Sinbad felt the tug of adventure try to pull him westward but it wasn't strong enough to even warrant protest. He didn't feel very much anymore—killing left him with little remorse, helping people left him with little joy, and even bedding women was not nearly as rewarding as he remembered. Not since her.

The afternoon sun shone nearly directly into Sinbad's eyes. He wished, for a fleeting moment, that he could become blind. Then he would not have to face the colorless world without her. The darkness within would be matched by darkness without. It would not be so bad, Sinbad figured.

* * *

Just down a steep, grassy slope, in the shadow of the tall forest trees, a small wooden hut huddled very alone and very small. Firelight danced in the windows and smoke rose through the crude chimney. The hut was obviously very old and had been repaired inexpertly more times than one could count.

Inside, the firelight turned the wooden walls rosy. A cauldron simmered slowly over the fire, looking nearly too heavy for the rickety hearth though the cauldron itself was not large. The redhead took a forked branch and pulled the cauldron off the fire, carefully poured some of the hot water into a large wooden bowl, and swung it back onto the fire. She reached up into the low rafters and rifled through the hanging bunches of herbs with her fingers, breaking off sprigs of dried lavender. These she crushed into the bowl. The steam that rose smelled strongly of lavender.

To the bubbling cauldron she added powdered infusions of rue and yarrow. She spoke to herself in the mumble of someone unused to speaking to other people. "Rue for sorrow and remembrance," she said, "and yarrow the bloom of revenge." From a pouch at her waist she drew a fiery yellow stone with a glowing center. "Dragoneye stone," she said, "to see both ways along the thread of time." This she placed at the edge of the fire, where it winked with the flickering flames.

Slowly, still muttering to herself, she drew her long shift from her body and dipped a clean edge of the garment into the bowl of lavender-scented water. She washed thoroughly, her pale skin ruddy in the firelight. She tucked her heavy mane of hair up on her head and twisted it into a rough knot.

She washed from toe to head so that her long bare legs were dry by the time she'd cleaned the dirt from beneath her fingernails and scrubbed her stained knuckles till they nearly bled.

"Well, and if this isn't enough I'll try again later," she said. An owl hooted in the rafters and a fat black spider fell, dazed, to the table. It lifted one delicate, spindly leg and skittered across the tabletop.

"Come get your prize, love," the redhead called to the owl. "For surely I don't want it."

The owl hooted again and flew out of the rafters. It alighted on the stick that had pulled the cauldron from the fire. Mottled brown and white, the owl snapped up the spider and stuffed it down its gullet. The redhead ruffled its breast feathers, then reached down and clutched her own belly as a visible contraction rippled over the surface of her skin. She bit her lip but said nothing. The owl hooted in concern.

"False labor," the redhead said, nearly grunting the words. The owl's big yellow eyes watched her closely. "Let's hope it's enough. If not, I'll have to try again when the real thing hits." She pushed away from the table and returned to the fire, reaching down awkwardly to try and pick up a glowing coal. It did not burn her, merely cooled in the palm of her hand as she blew out the fire in its heart.

She knelt on the floor and drew a perfect circle large enough to stand in, the charcoal leaving greasy black marks on the hard-packed dirt floor. On either side of the circle she drew sickles, the points facing outward. She was close enough to reach the cauldron easily from inside the full circle.

The owl hooted again and cocked its head to the side. The redheaded mimicked the gesture, twisting all the way upside down. The owl blinked. So did she. The owl hooted. She hooted back. The owl hopped on its perch, flapping its heavy wings. The redhead laughed and righted herself, holding her stomach. "Truly," she said, grimacing, "I feel like I'm to give birth to several cannonballs."

The owl hooted again and settled back to his perch, watching her. The redhead turned her attention back to the cauldron and slid several more herbs under the lid. A wolf howled outside, followed by the yips of small wolf pups. She put a hand on her stomach as another false contraction rippled across her abdomen. "Damn this!" she said, pacing the floor. The cauldron lid rattled and she drew it away, letting the cauldron steam. She knelt before the sign of the Goddess on the floor, facing the fire, and touched her forehead to the earth. With a small branch of yew she lighted beeswax candles in each cardinal corner, whispering holy words as her flame touched the wick. It was growing quite warm inside the tiny hut and her skin gleamed with sweat.

Naked, she knelt again before the circle and then stepped inside it. She let her branch fall into the hearth again and reached out for the dragoneye stone. It was as big as a hen's egg and vaguely spherical in shape. It was burning hot to the touch now and she cradled it in her palms. Whispering the words of a spell she had long yearned to cast, she held the stone to the space between her full breasts for a moment, then to the huge swell of her pregnant belly.

With a vocal, keening plea to the Goddess, she tipped the stone into the boiling cauldron. Infused with her life force, it set off the hidden powers of the elements and the herbs inside the cauldron. All elements together merged—the boiling water, the air bubbles, the heat from the fire, the soil still clinging to the herbs—with the spirit she placed in the stone. The power lit the herbs and the wish she had cast with her words. For a moment the power faltered as it slammed against the black wall of the curse it was meant to break. The charcoal diagram in which she stood glowed, first silver and then bright gold. She could feel the power gathering, the power of woman's magic—of mystery and sorcery that no man could ever decipher. It came from the secret parts of her body—from the womb that held her children, from the milk that would nourish them, from the arcane symbol of the Goddess in which she stood, from the marrow of her bones that differed from men's bones—so supple, so graceful, so free.

A sudden flash of real light slammed through the tiny hut with tangible force. It bit at her flesh, tore at her heart, and she threw every single bit of power she had—not _at_ it, but _in_ it. The light took it and the redhead both heard and felt something crack. A vision hit her eyes, bright and vibrant, of a ship on the sea. A little brown hawk perched on the railing lit up with gold light. The hawk screeched, but before the screech ended it turned into the voice of a man. She saw a flash of red hair as the man teetered on the rail for one moment before plunging into the water.

A second man rushed into her line of sight, one that made her heart suddenly hurt with pain she had always felt but never at this intensity. One word tore from his lips as he looked wildly around the deck. "Maeve!"

Her world went dark and she slumped to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

Sinbad lunged for the flash of red hair that he knew he'd seen. A splash echoed through his head and though it was daylight and the seas were fair, the fateful night that had taken her from him rushed to his mind instantly.

"Doubar! Man overboard!"

Sinbad dove after the ripples of disturbed water without thinking. He heard his brother dimly calling his name, but he didn't care. He opened his eyes in the painfully salty water, saw an arm disappearing into the depths of the dark water, and dove for it. He caught the wrist, hauled on it, and somehow got the prone body to the surface.

From the moment he touched it, Sinbad knew the body wasn't hers. His heart sank again, but he continued to tread water until Doubar, Rongar, and Bryn struggled the longboat into the water and rowed over to him. They covered the strange redheaded man with a blanket as he coughed water out of his lungs.

"It's Dermott," Bryn said. Sinbad gave her a scathing look, brushing the water out of his eyes. She shrank back, but scowled. "It is! I saw him…he changed." She knelt in the bottom of the longboat and put a hand on the man's forehead, pulling the wet hanks of hair out of his eyes. She turned his face and he looked at her.

"Dermott?"

He nodded slowly, coughed again, and shook his head. "I…think so." He gazed around him. "Everything l-looks so different out of a man's eyes." His voice was thin and rough with disuse. "You're all…smaller."

Doubar laughed at that but Sinbad regarded the stranger suspiciously. He couldn't see much, as…Dermott…huddled under a large blanket and his hair continued to drip in his face.

"What, exactly, is going on?" Sinbad demanded.

Dermott looked up and smiled. He raised a shaking hand and rubbed at his dripping hair with the edge of the blanket. "I am in your debt for the rescue, captain."

"You can eradicate that debt by telling me what's going on!"

Dermott shrugged shakily. "Maeve broke the curse, obviously."

"What curse?"

Dermott looked at him curiously. "She didn't tell you? I assumed she had."

Sinbad bristled and gritted his teeth. "No."

They had reached the Nomad again by this time and two crewmembers let down a ladder so the crew in the longboat could climb back to the deck.

"Why don't you let him change out of those dripping clothes first?" Doubar said. "He's half-drowned, and so are you. Explanations can wait, can't they?"

Sinbad nodded, though all he really wanted to do was drag the truth out of this stranger. Jealousy flared in him at the familiar way Dermott-the-man used her name. He remembered how lovingly she had held Dermott-the-hawk, how she had cared for him, her concern when he went missing… It all became clear now. She had known he was really a man. Sinbad's jaw tightened. This was an unwelcome turn of events.

* * *

The owl hooted and craned its flexible neck to peer at the woman who lay sprawled on the floor before her fireplace. He hopped from claw to claw for a moment, then spread his wings and flew out a window into the night, hooting into the darkness. The woman did not move.

Ten minutes later a snuffling noise sounded at the door and a large claw scratched at the latchstring until the door opened. A she-wolf slid like water into the room, followed by the huge head of a fully-grown she-bear, unlikely friends. Another wolf pushed through and they snuffled at the prone body of the naked woman. One yipped at the other, who whined high in her throat and dug her head under the redhead's arm. The other did the same on the other side and together they half-dragged, half-pulled the woman out of the hut. The owl perched in the low branch of a nearby tree and hooted at them. One of the wolves whined back.

Ever so carefully, they pulled and pushed the body onto the bear's back, mindful of the heavy bulge of her pregnant belly. Flanked by the two wolves and several curious wolf pups, the bear shuffled into the darkness. The pale shine of human skin shone in the trees long after the dark bear's coat had melted away.

The bear brought her to a rocky cave in a hillside, walking easily inside. The wolves had been left behind earlier, for while the animals might call a truce to save the life of another forest creature such truce did not mean the bear meant to show a pack of wolves where her cubs hid.

There were two cubs, young still, little more than rolling balls of brown fur with little black eyes and noses. The full-grown bear gently let the redheaded woman roll off her back onto a bed of moss and ferns and sniffed her.

She stirred and opened tired brown eyes to see the bear leaning over her. She tried to raise a hand, failed, and blinked. "Maeve," she whispered. "My name is Maeve."

The bear grunted and pushed her cold nose into the woman's pregnant belly. She did not care what the woman's name was. She cared only that this was a soon-to-be-mother in trouble. Forest-mothers had to help each other. She had not raised four sets of cubs for nothing. This much the bear had learned.

Maeve's eyes closed and she sighed, falling back to sleep. The bear curled up near her, grunting at the cubs. They came and arranged themselves in a warm, furry bundle around the sleeping woman. The night passed without incident.

* * *

Morning dawned on the Nomad, finding Sinbad at the tiller lost in thought. He hadn't received his explanation yet—Dermott had collapsed as soon as they got him on deck and Firouz had rushed him into dry clothes and then into bed, commandeering Bryn's cabin as the sickroom for the moment. She had elected to watch over Dermott during the night, making sure he was all right. She'd slept on the floor in a bundle of blankets—or so Sinbad thought. He wasn't sure; he hadn't checked to see.

Slowly the ship came alive. They were close to port but not there yet. The stunt with Dermott falling overboard had cost them extra time and the wind had died, leaving them to drift through the night. Sinbad railed at the thought of all the wasted time though he refused to admit even to himself that he was not particularly interested in this port, this city, or even this job. What he wanted, right at that very moment, was an explanation from Dermott-the-man and to see _her_ again. Not particularly in that order.

Clean, dry, and looking much better with a night's sleep inside him, Dermott stumbled up on deck wearing some of Doubar's old clothes. He nearly swam in them, but they were the only ones that came close to fitting him—he was tall, taller than Sinbad and even Rongar. It was also obvious from the size of the hands holding a dish of food and the feet navigating the steps up to the tiller that he would be powerfully built once he regained the muscle he had lost in his years as a hawk.

Sinbad eyed the newcomer as Dermott made his slow, ponderous way toward the captain. He settled awkwardly against the railing when he'd made it across the deck, and raised his head. For the first time, Sinbad got a good look at the man that had been Ma— _her_ hawk.

He looked exactly like her.

It was all there—the sparkling red hair, bright as newly-minted coppers, the deep brown eyes, the pale skin that refused to tan even in the middle of the sea with sunlight reflecting from all angles, the faint spattering of warm freckles across the bridge of the nose. They were so light that Sinbad had not noticed them until he'd been two inches from her face, but now that he knew what to look for he could see them as Dermott leaned against the railing beside him.

Dermott stood quietly under the captain's fierce scrutiny, returning Sinbad's eyes candidly whenever the captain happened to look in his eyes. Finally Dermott spoke.

"I can't read your mind, captain, and Maeve was not forthcoming with information about your relationship. I know there was something there—I'm not stupid. And I know, just from the look in her eyes, that she loved you very much."

Sinbad's jaw tightened. He hated it when Doubar spoke like this, candidly, truthfully, cutting to the important parts of the matter instead of dancing around them. Sinbad used to talk like that himself. He found he couldn't now. And he didn't like it when other people did.

"Quite honestly, I'm surprised she hadn't told you about me." Dermott rubbed the back of his neck with one huge hand, then held out the dish he'd carried with the other. "Your breakfast—Doubar said it'd be my head if you didn't eat."

Sinbad accepted the wooden bowl but did not attempt to eat out of it. Not looking at its contents, he placed it on the deck and returned his eyes to the redheaded man before him.

"As you'd probably expect, Rumina is part of this story. A rather large part, I'm afraid." Dermott flushed and dropped his eyes. "I was in training to become a warrior—I mean, look at me. With my size I'm not much good for anything else. Well, she came up north. I guess I interested her—I'll never know. She toyed with me like a cat with a mouse and I let her. I was infatuated; I couldn't help it. Everybody stayed out of my business and let me make a complete ass out of myself." He chuckled. "Except my little sister."

"Your sister?" Sinbad was jolted into saying. It suddenly became clear, now; the resemblance, the familiarity with which this man said her name… Sinbad cursed himself for ten thousand fools as Dermott continued his story.

"Aye, my sister. She was only a tiny little thing back then—wiry, the kind of tomboy that pops up in my family every once in a while. Took after her namesake, a queen of our people. Queen Medb." He said the name with a slightly different inflection than he used with his sister's name. "Rumina couldn't stand her, and the feeling was mutual. Both were young—Rumina was maybe sixteen, Maeve twelve or so. And it was like a war between the worlds whenever they met. I was angry with my sister for carrying on so, but she kept trying to tell me that the witch was planning something bad, that she didn't love me, that she was evil." He shook his head. "I was stupid, and infatuated. I didn't listen to her."

"What happened?"

Dermott shrugged. "Maeve was right. Isn't that an infuriating feeling, captain? It was every bit as infuriating back then. She had this way of lifting her eyebrow and smirking, just a little bit, that make me want to throttle her and go crawl under a rock at the same time."

"Oh, she still does it."

"Does she? I couldn't see right as a hawk. Facial expressions hold no meaning for birds, did you know that?"

"Was it…bad?"

Dermott shrugged. "Now that I think about it, it must have been. But you have to remember, Sinbad, that I wasn't thinking with a man's mind all those years trapped in the body of a bird. I was…half-and-half, if that makes any sense. Smarter than a hawk, but not really a man. I could communicate with Maeve and with other birds, but only on a rudimentary level. I didn't realize how bad it was until the curse was lifted."

"How'd you get cursed, anyway?"

"Rumina," Dermott said simply. "She asked me to come away to the south with her, to join her 'household,' as she called it."

"Her male harem."

Dermott nodded, reddened. "I knew at that point that she couldn't love me. She looked too—and don't laugh, Captain—too angelic back then, at sixteen. I couldn't have seen through it by myself. Maeve helped me."

"And Rumina cursed you as punishment?"

Dermott nodded. "Though it's not clear who she meant to punish—myself or Maeve. It's been a heavy burden on us both."

"She swore she'd return you to human form, didn't she?" Sinbad could guess this was something Maeve would do. He could now see the cause of Maeve's deep-seated hatred for Rumina. He wished she had not been so secretive, so mistrustful, but he understood why she had. After such a betrayal, a child not used to trusting people would be even more secretive.

"Oh yes. Swore up and down that it was her fault, that she should have tried harder to warn me." Dermott looked severely uncomfortable. "The one time she never told me 'I told you so' when she should have. In all the years we've been searching, I've never been able to take that guilt from her shoulders. It was my fault, not hers, but I don't know if she'll ever be able to accept that. I was the stupid one. I should have listened, I should have trusted her."

"Rumina is powerful," Sinbad said, adjusting himself at the tiller. "It's not easy to pull away once she has you caught in her snares."

Dermott nodded. "True. But the curse has been broken." He lifted his brown eyes to scan the horizon. "Now I almost wish for wings! Maeve is close—I can feel it!"

Sinbad's heart leaped into his throat and started hammering there, so quickly that it was hard to breathe.

"But I also sense great danger—to what, I am not sure. I fear Maeve is caught in the middle of it."

"I thought you said you were a warrior, not a sorcerer."

Dermott shrugged and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You can't live with Dim-Dim that long and not pick up a few things."

"We're almost to port," Sinbad said, speaking around the sudden obstruction in his throat. "Let's just hope we're soon enough."

Dermott's eyes scanned the quickly-approaching shoreline. They could see the smooth adobe walls of a city, and beyond that a deep dark forest. "I felt something else," he said softly, "when she freed me. If I didn't know any better, I'd say…"

"What?"

Dermott turned his head as if surprised that the captain was listening. "We'll see when we get there, won't we?"

Sinbad nodded, wondering what it was that Dermott had sensed and why he was afraid to tell him.

* * *

Six men riding horseback paused in the middle of a dark forest. One dismounted and knelt on the ground, his fingertips tracing marks in the soil. He raised his dark head.

"You won't believe this," he said, and he made a quick sign against evil with his hand before speaking again. The others mimicked the gesture.

"It's two wolves and a bear walking side by side."

"Rubbish."

The man on the ground shrugged. "Tracks do not lie. That is what I see."

Another man dismounted and examined the tracks. He too made the cross with his fingers and touched it to his forehead, warding against evil. "'Tis a great and evil magic could bewitch natural enemies to walk side by side." He slung his bow over his shoulder. "Looks to be we do not hunt game today, but witches instead."

The trackers remounted and all six men rode with the tracks, following them closely.

* * *

When Maeve opened her eyes she was not entirely sure why she was covered in the acrid smell of bear. She looked up and saw the natural crags and nooks of a cave, looked down to the cave's sandy floor and saw two bear cubs, fast asleep. The mother bear was nowhere to be found.

Suddenly the events of the previous night—all of them she remembered, that is—came rushing back to her head, along with a monumental headache. She tried to move and a small whimper escaped her lips. Her entire body felt like it was on fire—she was feverish and she couldn't move without shaking, her muscles screaming and aching in protest every time she so much as took a deep breath. Maeve bit her lip, determined not to cry.

A soft whuffling sound came from the entrance and Maeve watched the she-bear lumber into the cave. She nuzzled her cubs, who yawned and licked their mother's nose sleepily. Maeve smiled, one hand sliding down to rest on the huge swollen mound of her own pregnant stomach.

Then the bear came to Maeve and sniffed at her hair. She rumbled down low in her throat, not a growl, just bear-speech. Maeve put a hand out, and the bear licked her palm very gently. Then she whined.

Maeve sat up, her vision blurring as she moved. She groaned as her world exploded into pain. The spell had better have worked, she thought to herself. The way she felt, it just wasn't fair if it hadn't worked.

Using the bear to brace herself, Maeve stumbled to her feet. The she-bear snuffed and licked Maeve's pregnant belly. Maeve smiled. "Thank you," she said softly, and slowly she stumbled out of the cave and headed toward her little hut.

* * *

"There! Look!" One of the trackers pointed ahead of them, and all the men saw the little hovel that nearly blended with the woods around it.

"Nearly stinks of witchcraft," another said, wrinkling his nose.

They dismounted and tethered the horses a little way from the hut. On foot they circled the building twice, prowling like coyotes. Then they lifted the latch and wandered inside.

It was just as Maeve had left it, the cold remains of the fire still littering the hearth and the cauldron sitting atop them. The air smelled of lavender and rue. The men sneezed.

"This be devilry for sure," one man said, pointing at the charcoal sign of the Goddess etched on the floor. "Look—horns!" He pointed at the two sickle moons ringing the full moon.

All the men shook their heads, prowling around the tiny hut. They ripped the bunches of dried herbs from the rafters, tipped the cauldron onto the floor, broke the rickety table, and scuffed the sign of the Goddess with their shoes until, with the water from the cauldron, it was nothing but a muddy mess. One reached down and pocketed the dragoneye stone, which had fallen from the lip of the cauldron.

"Let's burn it," one suggested.

"Not in the forest," another said. "You light this place and the whole forest'll go. No. Leave it for the cursehag to find. That is, if we don't find her first." They chuckled and went to go get their horses.

* * *

Maeve was feeling a little better by the time she slid past the last trees and caught sight of her hut. She had worked some of the soreness out of her muscles, and all she wanted now was to soak in a hipbath and then fall into bed. The children lay heavy on her, lower and tighter than normal—the birth would be soon, she knew, and she wished to be rested before it began. "Soon, little ones," she said, murmuring to herself.

Before she took two steps into the tiny clearing that surrounded her hut, she felt it. Somebody had been here. She sniffed the air—they had been and gone, it was safe, but she disliked the feeling anyway.

Slowly, waiting for a trap of some kind, she slunk to the door of her hovel and pushed it carefully open. She gasped at what she saw.

The floor was a muddy mess, the cauldron toppled, ashes and herbs everywhere. The table was now nothing more than splinters. It didn't take long for her to figure out what happened. "Witch hunters," she muttered, going to her small pallet. They had ripped the mattress and strewn the stuffing about, but she lifted it from its box. Underneath was her small hoard of clothes and weapons. She dressed in a short, loose shift—loose so she could fit into it, short so she could move unencumbered—and pulled her longbow out from under the clothes. Her arrows she had hidden in the rafters, and she stood on the edge of the bedbox to reach the quiver.

Maeve felt urgency prick her heart. If the witch hunters had traced her here, they could certainly follow the tracks back to the bear's den. She refused to let them find the bear, for she knew well what they would do to an animal suspected of communicating with a witch. She would not repay the bear's hospitality with death.

With no sorrow spared for her ruined hut, Maeve stole out the door and took to the trees, climbing with difficulty but knowing it was both faster to run through the branches and easier to hide. The heavy limbs didn't even shake as she passed from tree to tree, dancing gracefully in the branches. She swallowed as a tremor passed through her body and the babies in her womb shifted uneasily. Not yet, she thought furiously. Not yet!

* * *

"The wolves left the bear just here," one of the trackers said, pointing to a muddy bit of ground. "One wolf went that way," he pointed to the north, "and one that way—south."

Two men branched off, one to track each wolf. They both returned within the half hour. "Ground's too rocky," one said. "The wolf crossed the river a couple of times, then ran into the rocks. Can't track a thing there."

"Went down to the mudhole," the other man said. "Got mixed up with a million other tracks—wolf, bear, raccoon, deer, dunno what else. Couldn't track an elephant from there."

"Then it's the bear," the first tracker said. All six men nodded. They remounted and continued on, walking slowly so as to follow the tracks carefully.

* * *

Dermott was nearly out of his new skin with worry for his sister as they secured the Nomad at port. The merchants who had purchased Sinbad's cargo were unloading it; Sinbad left several sailors to oversee that only the cargo was taken from the ship, and then set off with Dermott. Doubar, Rongar, Bryn, and Firouz trailed along behind, firing questions at the two men.

"What is all this foolery about?" Doubar finally snapped. Both Dermott and Sinbad turned to face him for a split second, not pausing as they walked quickly through the town. "Maeve," they said in unison before turning around again.

"Oh." Doubar shrugged. "In that case, no use trying to stop you."

Dermott paused in his headlong flight, putting a hand to his chin thoughtfully. "She won't be in town," he said, rocking a little on his feet. "That I know for sure."

"How?" Bryn demanded. Dermott turned fond eyes toward her.

"Little witch," he said, his voice kind. "If you know someone as well as I know Maeve, you'd understand. She won't be in the city, believe me."

"Then where?" Sinbad's voice was urgent.

"The forest, I think."

"It's huge!" Doubar objected. "We'll never find her in there." He turned to his brother. "Sinbad, this is lunacy. Why don't we just ask around town, see if anybody knows her? It's bound to get better results than—"

He stopped talking when he realized that Sinbad wasn't paying any attention to him. He had started off with Dermott again. Doubar cursed and followed his little brother into the forest, grumbling all the way.

* * *

"Stop!" Maeve commanded, stretching to her full height, an arrow nocked and at the ready. She drew it back, aiming at the man whose crossbow was about to fire on the great she-bear guarding her cave with bared teeth and heavy claws.

All six men turned. "It's the witch, come to save her familiar!" one of them gasped.

"I am not a witch," Maeve said, her voice carrying clearly through the trees. She stood easily on a branch twenty feet above them, her longbow aimed at one man's heart. "I am a stranger in this land, searching to save my brother's life."

"Lies, she speaks lies!" a man hissed.

Maeve scowled. "What cause have I to lie to you?" she demanded. "My brother has been ensorcelled by an evil sorceress and I look to help him. But while I am in this forest its creatures are under my care and you may not hunt them." She drew back her arrow a little more, the tension on the bowstring making her arm cry out but she held her place. "Drop your weapon and you may pass unharmed."

"Not likely." One of the men raised a second crossbow, this one aimed at Maeve. The first man loosed his arrow at the bear, who roared. Maeve flicked her hand and the arrow flew off course, clattering harmlessly into a pile of rocks. She leaped to the ground, jarring her belly painfully, just as the other arrow whizzed into the tree where she'd been. She drew back her own arrow and hit another man who was about to fire at the bear. Her arrow embedded itself cleanly in his chest and he toppled to the ground, blood leaking from his mouth and the wound.

Three more arrows were loosed at Maeve in quick succession, the little crossbows working in the tight space. Maeve ducked two without incident but the third sliced the side of her waist, grazing her skin just enough to make her bleed. Unable to use the tall longbow in such close quarters, Maeve drew her sword. The blue designs flashed in the sunlight.

The other men drew their swords as well, and ran to engage. They dropped their crossbows, all of them, to concentrate on the movement of sword and flesh, trying to keep away from Maeve's lightning-fast blade and deliver some blows themselves. None noticed the bear step away from the cave mouth just enough to reach the scattered crossbows and crush them with her massive weight, crunching through arrows and bows like men would crush matchsticks.

Heavily pregnant and still sore and exhausted from the night before, Maeve could not take on five trained fighters on her own. She raised her head to the heavens and howled for a moment, the surreal sound just like the call of a night-wolf. Several howls answered her.

The men looked at each other, uneasy, and that moment was all it took for the full pack of wolves to descend on them. Utter chaos reigned for about ten seconds as Maeve sliced through one man, three more had their throats and entrails torn out by the razor-sharp teeth of the wolves, and the bear roared in fury, filling the space under the trees with her mighty call and huge presence.

The last man cast his eyes about with terror. He saw a small space between Maeve and a wolf where he might be able to escape. He rushed toward it and Maeve moved to intercept him.

But the frightened man running for his life was not about to be stopped by a woman, witch or no. He brought his leg up to kick her, bringing the hilt of his sword down to crush against her head. She wasn't quite fast enough to duck, and though he missed her temple as she swerved, both blows rained down with terrific force on the pregnant bulge of her stomach.

She dropped like a stone, feeling something tear, and the man scrambled away into the woods. The wolves did not pursue, licking their bloody jowls and grinning devilishly at the felled bodies of the five dead hunters that surrounded them.

The matriarch of the pack whined through her nose: there were more people in the forest. The wolves sunk their teeth into the bloody carcasses and dragged them away from the bear's den, dragging them through the hard-packed dirt and rocky soil. One wolf stepped slowly over to Maeve and pressed her wet nose into the back of Maeve's neck. Maeve moved slightly and the wolf whined. The bear lumbered over as the wolf pawed at Maeve's shoulder. Slowly, ever so slowly, Maeve raised herself to a sitting position. She cradled her stomach with both arms, rocking ever so slightly. Her skirt was stained with water and blood.

The bear nudged her gently, as if urging her to stand. Maeve bit her lip until it bled, but using the wolf and bear to lean against, she fought her way to her feet. The wave of pain and nausea lightened slightly and she blinked blearily. Stumbling, she let go of the wolf, who pressed her nose slightly against Maeve's thigh and then left to rejoin her pack. Maeve let the bear lead her back into the cave and down to the bed of bracken where she sank down gratefully. The bear watched Maeve carefully for a long moment, during which the two cubs came up to paw experimentally at her. The bear pushed them away, for which Maeve was grateful.

"Giving birth in a cave with a bear as my midwife," Maeve muttered, gathering strength and climbing again to her feet. She began to slowly pace the back of the cave, right to left and back again, stumbling every now and then. "Sinbad, if I ever find you again I'll kill you for this." She grabbed at the rocky wall as another wave of pain washed over her, but she made no noise. The bear settled down between the entrance to the cave and Maeve, as if protecting her. She kept her cubs with her, and they quickly fell asleep as soon as they realized Maeve was not doing anything more interesting than pace. Maeve wished she could join them.

* * *

There was only one real road through the woods but plenty of little deer paths. They left the big road almost immediately, Dermott saying that Maeve would not hole up so near sign of human habitation if she didn't have to.

"Why not?" Firouz panted. "She didn't mind people so much. Not that I could see…"

"Didn't you see the etchings above the doorways back in the city?" Dermott asked. "That's a sign against evil."

"So?"

"She would not have been welcome there," Dermott said, a hard edge to his voice. "And she's intelligent enough to know it."

"Her magic?" Sinbad asked. Dermott nodded.

A sudden keening howl filled the trees, the howl of an animal in pain.

"That's a wolf!" Doubar said, glancing nervously at the trees.

"That's Maeve!" Dermott said, breaking into a run as a second howl answered the first. This one was deeper, rounder, and sounded more menacing.

"That was a wolf," Doubar panted. "And it's out for blood!"

"Not ours if we keep our heads," Sinbad said, dodging a tree root and catching up to Dermott. Fear pounded at his heart. Dermott's unease had infected the captain as well, and Sinbad knew he could not rest now until he knew what had happened to his sorceress, good or bane. The howls of wolves seemed to fill the woods and Sinbad could not tell where they were coming from.

"Hang on, Maeve," he whispered. "Hang on."

* * *

Maeve grunted, her skin slick with sweat, her body aching and her heart trembling with fear. She knelt on the bracken, leaning against the cold stone of the wall, and reached down as a small, rubbery newborn fell into her shaking arms. It took two breaths and then tried to scream. Maeve's vision was blurry, stars exploding inside her head, and she could not see the child. Her arms shook too much; for fear she would drop the child, she placed it on the bracken. She felt torn apart, as if she would never be whole again, and she tried to stand again so she could pace a tiny bit more and hurry up the second child. Her legs would not support her and she sank to her heels again. Sticky birth fluids and blood ran down the insides of her thighs and she could smell the warm copper scent of her own blood. She bit her lip hard again as another violent contraction took her body, and she felt blood run down her chin.

The two bear cubs bleated as their mother rose and came closer to Maeve. Maeve watched her but did not intervene as the bear leaned down to sniff the squalling infant. It stopped screaming for one long moment, and the bear licked it. Maeve smiled tightly through her pain as another contraction rippled through her body. She leaned against the wall and reached between her bent legs. She could feel the child's head, but it wasn't moving.

Maeve didn't think she could do any more. But her body insisted that she push, and so she did, one last time. The child moved enough that she could grasp its shoulders and, cradling its head, guide it from her body.

In a rush of fluid and a wave of the coppery scent of blood, the second child was born. Maeve collapsed to the bracken, holding this babe in her arms. Fear gripped her as she panted, for the child felt like ice in her arms.

"No," she growled, her voice hoarse as tears of frustration and anger tracked down her sweat-streaked face. "I didn't work so hard to birth you just to lose you now." And she put her mouth to the newborn's, breathing air into its lungs.

For what seemed like eternity she breathed gently into her infant's lungs, warming it with her body. She had no fear for the other one, hearing the bear lick it clean of blood and birth fluid. Hovering over her newborn, slowly warming its ice-blue skin with her own body, she breathed for it.

Something clicked. Maeve couldn't tell what. But suddenly the babe in her arms jerked, brought its arms and legs up as if to curl into a ball, and sucked in a massive breath of air. It let out a squall louder than the first child had uttered, its face screwed into a furious scowl.

Maeve laughed in relief, perilously close to hysterics, and swept the child into her arms. The mother bear grunted and Maeve cradled her secondborn to her chest, trying to keep its naked body warm.

Her vision now beginning to clear, Maeve took a good look at both her babies. They had damp hair like dark copper and very red skin. The one she held was a boy. The one that the bear had licked clean was a girl, and now that the bear had finished she was beginning to fuss again. Maeve picked her up in one arm, holding her son in the other, and cuddled them both close to her heart.

"Precious," she whispered, crooning over their heads. They quieted and Maeve let them suckle, holding one at each breast, her arms trembling with fatigue. She watched them, spellbound, as they moved their own hands and heads, their tiny legs tangling. Her daughter opened her eyes—she was cross-eyed like any newlyborn, but her eyes were gorgeously blue.

Maeve whispered to them in the language of her heart and her homeland, a language she had not uttered for a very long time. The she-bear grunted in content, seeing that everything was now all right, and settled down with her cubs to sleep. Too exhausted and exhilarated to sleep, Maeve continued to watch her twins as they fell asleep in her arms, their little fists clenched tightly, their faces relaxing into expressions of peace.

* * *

The scent of blood hit Sinbad full in the face and he almost gagged on it as they rushed into a sunbaked clearing. Five bodies, one with an arrow shaft still sticking out of the heart, lay in pieces around the clearing. There were clear wolf tracks around the bodies.

"Oh my." Firouz backed out of the clearing as soon as he saw what it held, taking deep breaths as if he were desperately trying not to be sick. Dermott seemed unfazed and he strode over to the man with the arrowshaft protruding from his mangled corpse. He ripped the arrow free and the man's ribcage collapsed. Doubar groaned and went to join Firouz and Bryn just inside the forest again. Rongar, Sinbad, and Dermott crowded around the bloody arrow.

There was no arrowhead, simply a branch sharpened to a wicked point and notched to keep it in the flesh once embedded. The fletching was not feather, but extremely tough dried leaves and they were held together with very fine, strong strips of leather.

"Maeve made this," Dermott said, examining the bloody arrow. "She would never hurt a bird, even before I was changed. That's why there are no feathers, see? And look here—see the knots in the leather? She never could manage to tie the right arrow-knots. This is her improvised knot."

"Then these people attacked her?" Sinbad asked.

"Must have." Dermott frowned. "I don't see any sign of her though." He glanced at the ground. "No human footprints save ours. No scraps of female clothing, no bits of red hair stuck on a branch. I don't think she was here at all."

"Then how'd one of her arrows get here?"

Dermott shrugged. "Search me. Very smart wolves, maybe?"

"Codswallop," Doubar said, stamping his foot. "Will you get back here? Hanging around a graveyard isn't going to find her any faster."

"He's right," Sinbad said. He touched the arrow, but it gave him no clue as to where Maeve could be. "Let's go."

They slid back into the forest just in time to hide as a group of twenty or more riders passed by. At the head of the group a bloody man was jabbering excitedly to another man. "Wolves! Everywhere! Had us surrounded! And that redheaded witch—" he made the sign against evil "—she called them. And…and a huge bear! And…"

The sailors looked at each other in worry as the group passed. "Looks like we'd better hurry," Sinbad said seriously. Dermott nodded, steel in his dark eyes.

* * *

The hoot of an owl roused Maeve. She hadn't been asleep exactly—but she hadn't really been awake, either. She shivered in her thin, stained dress, trying to will warmth into her babies. They slept like the dead, occasionally shifting in her arms but mostly just breathing silently.

The owl hooted again, and Maeve looked up to see the owl from her hut wing down to a rocky ledge and perch there. It hooted at her anxiously and worry appeared on Maeve's tired face. "More hunters?" she asked. "Coming here?"

The owl cooed and Maeve climbed shakily to her feet. "Thank you, my friend."

The she-bear was watching this, and as the owl flew away again Maeve reached down and placed her babies in the nest of bracken. She touched the bear's huge head. "Up, my friend," she said. "Danger is coming; we can't stay here."

The bear seemed to understand for she lunged to her feet, spilling her sleeping cubs to either side as she stood. They rolled, balls of fur, before scrambling to their feet. Maeve carefully gathered up her newly-born twins, holding them tightly to her chest, and they all quickly stepped out of the cave.

"Will you trust me to keep you safe, my friend?" Maeve asked. The bear whuffled, and together they slipped into the cover of the trees.

"Here," Maeve said suddenly, slipping between two trees. Before them lay a hollow stump, taller than Maeve, big enough for the bear and the cubs if they squished. Maeve pointed, and the bear seemed to nod.

"I brought these hunters upon you," Maeve muttered. "I have to make sure they go." She cast her eyes about and finally found a sheltered hole in a nearby tree. Here she lay her babies, feeling fear set upon her as she parted from them. She covered their sleeping bodies with leaves and ferns, hoping they would stay warm enough for there was nothing else at the moment that she could do for them. Taking them to her hut would waste too much time, and now that the hunters knew where it was the hut was not safe for her children.

The girl woke as Maeve was beginning to move away and she whimpered. Maeve knelt again, her muscles weak, and brushed a hand over the baby's head. "Hush," she whispered. "Not a sound. I'll be back."

Her touch soothed the child, who yawned and closed her eyes again. Maeve left quickly, returning to lay in wait with her sword and bow at the bear's cave.

* * *

"Here," the single remaining man from the first hunting foray said, pointing at the bloodstained earth in front of the cave. He did not look up, and so he did not see Maeve crouching on top of the cave, an arrow nocked and ready to fly. "Brought wolves, and talked to the bear. Filthy creature," the man said. "With child, too—probably a whole tribe of heathens living here. Outside the normal order." He grimaced. "She was probably birthing bastards before she was twelve; you never can tell with barbarians like that…"

A bowstring twanged, an arrow hissed, and the man fell dead from his saddle, an expression of surprise frozen on his features. Three more arrows found marks before the men realized where they were coming from and began shooting back. Maeve ducked behind a boulder, hearing the skittering noises of arrows hitting rock, and she took a deep breath. She hadn't any more plans; all she had thought was to dispatch as many hunters as she could. She nocked another arrow and shot into the midst of the remaining men, finding a target mostly by luck before she ducked behind the boulder again. She closed her eyes and counted the men in her mind's eye—fifteen left. She didn't think she could take that many on a good day, and right now was definitely not a good day. She decided to try and sneak around to a new vantage point—maybe in a tree—and continue shooting from there.

Suiting action to words, she slid down the back of the cave. Arrows continued to clatter against the stone; good. They hadn't seen her move, then. She eased around to the side of the cave. This was the dangerous part. If she could get up into a tree without them seeing, she was safe. There was a sprint of perhaps five strides where she would be in the open, but as long as they were concentrating on the top of the cave still she thought she might have a chance. Maeve took a deep breath, not risking a glance around the rocks before she bolted for a tree.

She was twenty feet up and hanging on a branch within three seconds, her heart pounding dizzily in her throat. Nobody had seen her. She eyed her position. From here she could step from tree to tree, ringing the men and firing down upon them. They had metal helmets so she could not get their heads, but there were gaps in their thin leather armor she could easily reach with the power of her longbow. Smiling grimly, she steadied herself against the tree trunk with one foot, nocked an arrow, and fired from behind a shield of branches.

Nobody saw the quick flash of arrow until it was embedded in the throat of a hunter. He gurgled and toppled from his horse, bubbles forming in his blood as he tried to breathe through a ruptured esophagus. Maeve felt no pleasure at killing but protective instinct had set into her heart and she knew she would kill them all if it meant her babies would be safe. She fired another arrow from this spot. It glanced off a helmet and she quickly moved to a different tree, careful not to use the same spot too many times in a row.

"Archers in the trees!" a man cried, pointing at Maeve. She didn't think he could see her, but he'd probably seen the leaves bob as she moved from branch to branch. She dodged three arrows and moved to a different tree.

Sudden fire lanced through her body and she stiffened, the shaft of an arrow embedded in the soft flesh of her shoulder just under her collarbone. Her vision swam, she stumbled and lost her balance, and toppled from the tree just as two jarring cries echoed through the trees.

* * *

A group of people swarmed into the tiny clearing around the mouth of the bear's cave. Maeve saw a flash of very familiar red hair pass her by and run to engage with one of the hunters. Then a shadow lurched over her, fell to its knees, and her blurry vision was full of two bright blue eyes.

"Sinbad," she said just before her eyes rolled up into her head and she collapsed.

"No! Maeve, don't you dare!" Sinbad threw himself over her, shielding her from the fight. With a curse he fumbled with the arrow embedded firmly in her flesh. He snapped the shaft close to her skin but didn't dare to pull the arrow out just yet. He picked her up carefully, feeling the sharp bones of her hip and shoulder press against him. She hadn't been eating well. Sinbad carefully carried her away from the fighting before setting her down again and shouting for Firouz.

The inventor came running, looking more than a little relieved to be away from the fight. Sinbad didn't want to leave Maeve, but there was no choice. He had to join the fighting. "Help her," was all he said to Firouz, but it was really all he needed to say. Firouz could see in his captain's eyes what Maeve meant to him. He nodded and Sinbad ducked back into the dusty clearing before the cave, drawing his saber.

Ten minutes was all it took—ten minutes before all the hunters had been defeated. The crew gazed around wildly, looking for the redhead they'd seen fall. Sinbad and Dermott ran to Maeve's side.

She was still unconscious but Firouz had taken out the arrow and cleaned the wound as best he could, binding it with material torn from his sleeves. As Sinbad and Dermott hovered over her, worry in their eyes, it didn't seem that she could be alive. She was covered in blood, her dress stained and torn until she wore little more than a few bloodied rags. Her closed eyes looked bruised, the circles around them were so dark, and her skin was pale as death.

"Is she…" Dermott tried.

"She's alive," Firouz said. "Though Allah only knows how. That fall should have snapped her spine."

"Aw, she was always falling out of trees as a girl," Dermott said. "Never got hurt once." He smiled, but they could all see it was plain bravado and he was just as worried as everyone else.

Suddenly Maeve's eyes flickered. Dermott knelt by her side and took one of her bloody hands in his. "Maeve? Kiddo?"

Her eyes flew open. "Dermott?"

He smiled. Maeve said something in Gaelic—a blessing or a curse, Sinbad couldn't say which—and reached up to wrap trembling arms around her brother.

"Dermott, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "So sorry…"

"Hushhhh…" he said, holding her tightly. "Nothing was ever your fault, firebrand. I should have listened to you from the beginning. You were right, Maeve. You were right." He pushed away and cradled her face in one of his huge hands. "You've always been my protector. There's no way I could ever thank you."

"I'm just glad the spell worked," Maeve mumbled through the tears that glimmered on her cheeks. She tried to brush them away. "Damn it!" she said, and hugged her brother again.

"Go ahead and cry, Maeve," he whispered into her hair. "It's okay to be a girl every once in a while."

She shook her head and held him tighter. Finally Dermott released her, raising his eyes to find Sinbad. The captain had stood next to them throughout the reunion, glad brother and sister were again reunited but impatient to touch Maeve and prove to himself that she was indeed safe, alive, and staring back at him once again. Nine months…three-quarters of a year had turned him three-quarters dead and now life was two breaths away, lying there on the ground, surrounded by the crew.

Dermott stood up and stepped away, smiling warmly at Sinbad. Sinbad dropped to his knees, moving into Maeve's line of sight. With a strangled, choking noise that might have been an attempt at laughter she reached out to him. Sinbad swept her into his arms, burying his face in her shoulder, her long hair hiding his face as he struggled not to cry, his arms full of Maeve. She felt a little different against him, her frame gaunter, her breasts fuller, but he didn't care. He almost couldn't tell, his ears full of the three words she was breathing into his ear as she cried silently into his shoulder. "I love you," she whispered. "I love you, I love you, I love you." It was like a chant, a heartbeat, and Sinbad closed his eyes, holding her as tightly as he dared. "I love you," he whispered back, just once, for it was all his constricted throat would allow him to say.

It seemed like forever that he held her like that, knelt on the moss under a giant tree and felt her grip him back tightly. He would have been sure it was all a dream, but would a dream contain the soft tickle of ants crawling over his knee, or the ache in his sword arm? He didn't think so. And in his dreams Maeve did not smell of blood and sweat, nor was she injured like this. No, this was terribly real.

Slowly the crewmembers stole away, loath to intrude upon this incredibly personal moment. Doubar, his eyes suspiciously bright, helped Rongar gather up the dead hunters' horses. They tethered six and untacked the rest, letting them run wild in the forest. The bodies they dragged out of the clearing, knowing the wolves would be back for these carcasses eventually.

Dermott sat a respectful distance away and watched Sinbad and his sister as Bryn patched up a cut on his arm. "Don't worry," he said, touching Bryn's hand.

"I'm not," she said, but her tone was unconvincing.

"You are," he said with a touch of laughter in his voice. "Don't be. You're still a member of this crew, and if I know Sinbad—and I've known him longer than you have, remember—he won't make you leave." He flexed his arm as Bryn tied the bandage. "My sister is a full sorceress now—only a full sorceress could have broken a curse as strong as Rumina's. She can teach you how to control your magic, if you wish. I can teach you the basics, if it comes to that. Aye, Sinbad and Maeve belong together. But that doesn't mean there isn't a place for you on the Nomad."

Bryn favored him with a smile. "I knew Sinbad wasn't meant for me—you'll remember, since I used to talk to you."

Dermott chuckled.

"I knew his heart belonged to someone else. I just didn't know how else…"

"To become family?" he asked delicately. Bryn reddened and nodded. Dermott tugged on a lock of her hair. "Foolish witch—you already are. You didn't have to do anything."

"I know that now. I didn't know it then."

Firouz waited a little way away from the rest of the group, just watching everyone. A small growl from behind made him turn, and he found himself face to face with a fully-grown bear.

"I—I—" he stuttered, unable to get anything else out. The bear reached out delicately and latched her teeth onto his shirt. She pulled.

"Okay, okay," Firouz said. "I get the point." He cast another glance back at the clearing. Nobody was watching. He followed the bear into the woods.

Maeve's arms loosened around Sinbad, and at first fear gripped his heart until he heard her breathing ease and deepen into the pattern of deep sleep. He lay her down again, still not wanting to let her go, and saw her chest rise and fall in a comfortingly regular rhythm.

"Little brother?"

Sinbad looked up to see Doubar standing above him. He smiled, and Doubar smiled back. "Aye," the big man said. "My little brother is back."

"Whole," Sinbad said. He glanced at Maeve again and then rose to his feet. He watched in amusement as Bryn slid up near them and studied Maeve with her eyes.

"They look exactly alike," she said, raising her eyes to look at Dermott and then turning her eyes back to Maeve.

"Not quite," Sinbad said. "Nobody could be quite like Maeve."

"Let's hope not," Doubar chuckled. "Allah knows one is almost too much!"

Bryn knelt next to Maeve, who slept on. Dermott came to stand near them, and Rongar came over to see what they had all gathered around for. "What is it?" Dermott asked.

"There's something funny here," Bryn said, frowning. She looked up at Dermott. "You said, when we were in the city, that you'd felt something strange when you were changed back."

Dermott nodded, catching on. "Aye. I thought…but look at her. It's impossible."

"Will somebody tell me what's going on?" The irritable snap in Sinbad's voice made Dermott chuckle.

"It's nothing, captain. I felt…someone else with Maeve when she released the curse. Another presence, and kin to me."

"And?" The captain looked blank.

"Are you that dense, then?" Bryn said. "Dermott's saying that he thought she was pregnant."

"But she's not," Dermott said quickly. "I mean, look at her. She can't be."

"And I'm saying," Bryn cut in, "that I think she's had a baby."

Sinbad looked wildly around for Firouz, but the inventor was nowhere in sight. "Why do you think so?" he demanded of the sorceress.

Bryn flushed. "Well, look," she said, pointing at Maeve's dress. "See the blood there? That's a little different color than the blood at her shoulder? That's not bleeding blood, that's birthing blood."

Dermott frowned and knelt on the other side of his sister, brushing her skirt away from her legs. Dark, sticky blood coated the inside of her muscular thighs. "By the gods," he breathed. "You're right."

"But…" Doubar shook his head. "If she's given birth so recently…where is the babe?"

"Ah…Sinbad?"

All heads whirled around at the sound of the inventor's voice. Firouz stepped from the forest, two sleeping babies cradled in his arms. Their hair was the bright fire of newly-minted coppers, the same color as Dermott and Maeve's. One of the children sleepily turned her head and opened her eyes. They were blue as the sea.

"Three guesses who mama and da are," Dermott said, chuckling. He took one of the children from Firouz. "Look, Sinbad, it's your son."

Sinbad peered at the babe in Dermott's arms. Blue eyes opened, eyes as blue as Sinbad's. "Only one way to find out," he said, and he took the infant carefully from Dermott. He knelt and placed the tiny boy near Maeve on the ground. She did not fully wake as the child fretted, but she turned and took him into her arms, resting her cheek on his sleek red head. He quieted almost instantly.

"Okay then," Sinbad said, feeling very strange. "Let's go home…back to the Nomad."

They mounted the horses, Sinbad holding Maeve, who did not wake. "Unconscious," Firouz said, listening to her breathing. "Just conked out. She'll wake eventually."

Dermott and Doubar, appointing themselves official uncles, each took a twin, and everyone rode at a gentle walk back to the Nomad.

* * *

Maeve woke hours later to the noises of fussing babies and the gentle rocking of a ship. She opened her eyes to find herself tucked into Sinbad's big bed, her twins beside her.

"What…"

A shadow loomed over her and she looked up to see Sinbad standing next to the bed, a curious light in his eyes. "May I sit?" he asked.

"Of course." She reached out a hand for him and he took it, pressing her palm to his cheek. Maeve squinted. "I…must have been hallucinating," she said. "But in the woods…I could have sworn you'd grown a beard."

Sinbad's face broke into a beautiful smile. He'd forgotten how good it felt to smile from his soul like that. "I did."

"Then am I hallucinating now?" She moved her thumb across his smooth cheek.

"No. I shaved this afternoon."

She glanced around the shadowy cabin. "What time is it?"

"Sundown, or nearly." He pressed a burning kiss into her palm. "I love you."

"And I, you." She struggled to sit up, wincing. "All I want to do is sleep for a month."

"You can if you like," Sinbad said. "As long as you wake every once in a while to feed these elves." He glanced at the fussing babes.

Maeve's eyes grew serious. "They are yours, Sinbad," she said quietly. "Conceived here, on the Nomad before I…left."

"I assumed so," Sinbad said, his blue eyes solemn. "Here, in this room…Maeve, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me you were with child before you left?"

"I didn't know." She flushed. "I didn't know until I'd been gone nearly a month—Dim-Dim said that I must be completely dense if I didn't even know I was with child…"

Sinbad chuckled and released her hand. She stroked his long hair. He'd washed it but not cut it. "I wanted to tell you, so many times. But you weren't there…"

"I was looking!" Sinbad's voice rose. "Allah, Maeve, you'll never know how hard I looked!"

She pulled him to her and wound her arms around his shoulders. "I know…I know. I wasn't blaming you, love. After I left Dim-Dim I just wanted to be alone for a while. So I purposely made it hard to reach me."

"You didn't want me to find you?" Sinbad's voice was hurt.

"I wanted you," she said, "but nobody else. And I know the world doesn't work that way. I was uncertain with my new power and didn't want to be around people. I had to make a choice until I could break the curse on Dermott. So I did. I'm sorry if it hurt you. But I swore to him that I would not rest until the curse was broken. I had to keep that promise before I could think about myself and what I wanted."

"You came to me before," Sinbad argued. "We conceived those babies…" His voice grated low in his throat, making Maeve shiver.

"Weakness," she said softly. "I loved you…so much. I couldn't help it." Her voice turned solemn. "I would have had to leave you eventually to finish my training. I think Dim-Dim did us both a favor—he took me so I wouldn't have to find the strength to leave on my own." She leaned back into the pillows so she could see his eyes. "I don't know if I could have."

The understanding in that gaze traveled the depths of their souls, blue and brown meeting and spiraling down to their hearts. Sinbad lowered his head very gently and touched Maeve's lips with his, their first kiss in months. It was gentle, for he could feel her exhaustion seeping out of her very skin, but it was enough to cement the truths they had spoken to each other this night.

One of the babies squalled, and both parents broke apart, smiling. Sinbad reached down with care and scooped up his daughter, cradling her in his strong arms. "Gorgeous," he whispered. They'd purchased soft blankets in the town before they set sail, and both babies were well-wrapped against the cool sea air. Sinbad pressed a kiss to his daughter's forehead, then handed the tiny babe to Maeve.

Maeve moved to unlace the ties on her dress only to realize that, under the blankets she wasn't wearing anything at all. She threw a glance at Sinbad, who grinned lopsidedly as she let the child nurse.

"You were filthy, Maeve, and covered with blood. Firouz said that couldn't be healthy, so I cleaned you up as best I could. The dress was ruined, but all your old clothes are here." He eyed her gaunt shoulders. "Though they might be a little big for you now."

Maeve chuckled. "You think living alone in a forest without hunting is easy? Besides, I was carrying these two. I was eating for three and barely had enough to feed one." She sat upright, the blanket falling to pool around her waist, and reached for her son. "Here, give me both of them," she said.

Sinbad moved the boy so she could take him and watched in fascination as his son latched onto Maeve's full, heavy breast. "They're so tiny," he whispered.

"Twins are always small," Maeve said, "but they'll grow."

Sinbad reached out a hand and touched his son's nose, stroked the soft cheek. The baby raised a fist and grabbed for Sinbad's finger; Sinbad let him have it and he clenched it tight.

"Quite a grip," Sinbad said, chuckling. "He'll be a fighter."

"Oh, no." Maeve shook her head. "He's been touched by the Goddess." She showed him the little birthmark on the back of the infant's neck. It looked like a full moon flanked by two sickles. "It's off to sorcerer school for him. You can teach your daughter to fight."

"And raise another hellcat like you? I don't know if the Nomad can handle another one." Sinbad tempered his words with a soft kiss to Maeve's lips. "You give me enough heartache for five women, at the very least."

"Oh?" Maeve's lips turned up in an amused smile.

"Aye," Sinbad said. "I think it's called love."

"Pirate," Maeve accused, yawning.

"Spiteful wench." Sinbad took his daughter from Maeve's arms and rubbed her back until she burped.

"Brainless sea slug." Maeve settled back into the blankets.

"Harpy." Sinbad took his son and burped him as well.

"Addle-witted…" Maeve's insult faded away as she fell asleep again.

"My love," Sinbad whispered, leaning forward to touch his lips to her forehead before he rose and left the cabin.

* * *

Maeve slept through most of the next two days but awoke on the third day before Sinbad. He was sleeping on his stomach, one arm protectively curling over Maeve's waist. She smiled and turned her head so she could see the cradle where her babies slept. Sinbad had built it with his own two hands, bolting it securely to the floor by their bedside so it could not slide during rough seas. Maeve reached out one hand and brushed the cheek of the nearest sleeping baby. She marveled yet again at the perfect little eyelashes, the delicately whorled ears, the minuscule fingers with their exquisite little fingernails.

Sinbad's arm tightened and she turned her head to see his eyes open and gentle. "Morning, sea slug," she said, tangling one hand in his hair. "You know, I think I like your hair this length."

"Oh?"

"Just don't grow it longer than mine."

Sinbad laughed—Maeve's hair had not been touched in all the time they'd been apart and it hung redder and thicker than ever down past her shoulderblades. "I don't think there will be any problem there," he said, reaching up to kiss her.

Maeve moved her head and his lips landed on the soft underside of her chin. He nuzzled the velvet warmth under her ear, tugged her earlobe with his teeth, and kissed the corner of her mouth very gently.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," he said quietly.

"How do you know I am?" she asked, nuzzling his throat.

"Because your eyes are actually awake today," he said. "I mean really awake, not just half-awake."

"Mm." She kissed his jaw and tried to reach for his mouth but he pulled teasingly away. "Maybe I know something you don't know."

"You've been asleep for two days, Maeve. How could you possibly know something I don't know?" His hands found her waist and tightened there. Maeve shivered.

"What does being awake have to do with anything?" Maeve slid her hands up underneath his shirt, making him shiver.

"Have it your way then. What do you know that I don't?"

"Say please," she teased, reaching up to nip his lower lip. Sinbad captured her mouth with a turn of his head and kissed her deeply. Maeve's mouth opened under his gentle touch, and liquid fire swam through Sinbad's body as their tongues met.

"Please," Sinbad rasped gently when he finally released her mouth.

Maeve chuckled low in her throat, almost a purr, and touched the tip of her tongue to his lower lip. "Dermott's fallen for Bryn."

"No."

Maeve shrugged. "I know my brother, and I know when he's smitten. I just thought, with all the ribbing you've been taking from him, that you might want to fight back for a change."

It was Sinbad's turn to chuckle, and he leaned back to gaze at the sorceress as she reclined in their bed, her eyes gentle and content. His heart had healed and now it seemed so full that he could hardly contain it all.

"You are so very precious to me," he whispered. Maeve smiled and hooked a hand around his neck, bringing him forward for a kiss. Sweet fire and molten ice, truth Sinbad couldn't deny. His body was hungry for her, but he held himself in check. Everything would come in time.

But Maeve could tell how the blood pounded in his veins, and her hold on him gentled. "Just a little while more," she whispered in his ear. "A few weeks and I'll have healed." She leaned back so she could see his face. "I want you too, sailor." She nipped his lip gently. "Patience…"

"I am not a patient man," Sinbad said, and Maeve laughed.

"And don't I know it," she said. "We can both handle it."

"Says who?" Sinbad grumbled, but he pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat and moved off of her.

"I do." Maeve threw him a wicked glance and climbed out of bed. "Some things are worth waiting for."

* * *

Sinbad stood on the deck of the Nomad, staring at the star-studded sky. He'd chosen this watch at the tiller for Maeve was fast asleep and he would be back just in time to help with the late-night feeding. He smiled. Life was damn near perfect.

Dermott stepped onto the deck, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was beginning to regain muscle, returning to his pre-hawk size. "A nice night, Captain," he said softly.

"Aye," Sinbad agreed.

"Look," the redheaded man said, "I know I've no right to give Maeve away—not after all she's done for me. It's like she's the big brother and I'm the bumbling little sister. But—I'm the only family she has left, and she's been very lonely. Until she met you." He shifted and stared up at the sky. "So…as the traditions of our people demand, I give you my blessing, Sinbad…and my sister. Treat her well."

"She is more precious to me than my own soul," Sinbad answered honestly. "But why now? Why come to me now?"

"It is time for me to leave you," Dermott said. "Bryn wishes to come with me, and learn what I know. She has a quest to fulfill just as Maeve did—Bryn must find her people. She, however, is not as strong as my sister. She'll need help. So I go with her."

"Maeve will not be happy to see you leave."

Dermott forced a smile. "I am not happy to leave her. But I will return. This I swear."

Sinbad nodded. "We port early tomorrow afternoon. We'll let you off there."

Dermott inclined his head. "I thank you, Sinbad. Wind to your sails."

"Wind to your sails," Sinbad repeated, and Dermott disappeared below.

So a new quest would begin, Sinbad thought. And there would be more adventures ahead, he was sure of it. He would face them with a full heart this time, for he would never allow he and Maeve to be parted again. And together, who knew where the wind might take them?

A star winked overhead, as if to agree.


End file.
